December
by LemonMeringueTart
Summary: Jane discovers Maura in an unusual situation, forcing them to examine their relationship. This is basically an excuse to write some good old-fashioned PWP.
1. Chapter 1

This is a Rizzles story, and it doesn't fit anywhere specifically into the R & I television realm that we know and love (sometimes). I prefer to pretty much ignore the characters of Casey, Jack, etc. because they are boys and boys are boring (sorry, but that's the truth!)

This story doesn't have anything to do with anything else that I have written, so it's completely stand-alone from my other fics.

Feedback / Reviews / Messages make me write faster. I'm just kidding. Not really. Am I? Whatever.

Merry Christmas.

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><p><em>Her hands; it always came back to her hands. Long and strong; feminine and masculine, her hands express both the deftness required to play a classical piano piece as well as draw a semi-automatic weapon, click off the safety, and acquire a kill shot on a target 25-feet away in little more than a nanosecond. <em>

_In all truthfulness, it takes her approximately one billion nanoseconds to draw her weapon, depending on what blazer she's wearing. _

I resist the urge to roll my eyes at myself, knowing that is what Jane would do if she knew what I was thinking about. Shaking my head slightly, I roll over and sigh into the quiet darkness of my room.

"I should be thinking about Jack," I tell myself soberly. After years of dating, I've finally found a man who celebrates my quirks, doesn't mind my unusual job, and most importantly; isn't a sociopath. I try to force myself into thinking about him instead, but my mind quickly wanders onto a more interesting subject.

_She frequently finds something to fidget with; sometimes it's the label on her bottle of beer, a pen, or even the edge of her cuff. Her fingers twitch when they are unoccupied and I've seen her reach out for a paperclip or scrap piece of paper just to have something within her grasp. I often find myself mesmerized by the gentle and repetitive motion of her unconscious movements – is she even aware of what she's doing? _

_Do her hands grope as eagerly at the flesh of her lovers? Are her movements frantic or more controlled? _

I shift uncomfortably at the thought of Jane sharing her bed with anyone. Sighing again, I make yet another attempt to relax and fall back asleep.

I really haven't been sleeping well. Chalk it up to a newly-acquired habit of having an extra glass of wine before bed, or the atrocious lack of healthy leafy greens in my diet lately due to all of the holiday goodies available at the precint; regardless, a good night's sleep has eluded me for the past few nights. I am fairly certain that the cause of the issue is Jane, yet I still want to stubbornly cling to the notion it could be something environmental. What's unusual is that I'm falling asleep relatively easy; after my usual meditation session, that is. However, around the same time each morning I am being interrupted from my most crucial stage of sleep, N3. After only a few days of sleep deprivation I am already showing clinical signs such as moodiness, a decrease in energy, and frequent headaches.

Closing my eyes, I arrange the soft bedclothes to form a cocoon around my shoulders. I purposely slow and steady my breathing and concentrate on relaxing my muscles; starting with my clenched jaw. As I sink further into the mattress, my mind wanders once again, always to the same subject.

_Her hair is such an enigma. I am certain she doesn't color it, yet sometimes it appears as black as a raven's wing at midnight and other times the color of finely burnished mahogany from the most environmentally-friendly sustainable forest. When she leaves it down, the tangled curls are a true testament to her personality – utterly mussed and disoriented on the surface, yet in perfect order. Once pulled back, her angular face is the star and no one can question that she is a force to be reckoned with. _

_I love the grimace she makes when she rips the rubber band out of her hair; the slight head shake she does to release the curls back into freedom, and the little half frown she makes as she pulls any loose hair out of the now-empty rubber band. She used to insist on wearing the band around her wrist until I told her about the hidden dangers of circulation loss. Now she keeps it stowed in her back pocket, a much more appropriate place. How quickly she hooks one long digit into her pocket, retrieves the band, and effortlessly contains all of the curls using her extremely dexterous fingers. _

I find myself watching her make daily motions such as this with my mouth slightly open; my eyes half lidded. My breathing hitches each time she quirks an eyebrow in my direction. What must she think? Does she have any idea what her hands do to me? How every gesture she makes leaves the inside of my thighs quivering? Whenever I mention Jack, she wrinkles her nose in displeasure. What would she think if she knew I had to imagine it was her I was with instead of him, pretending it was her who was spreading my legs open roughly? Wishing it was her elegant hands palming my breasts instead of his coarse ones?

My eyes snap open and I worry at the side of my cheek with my canines. I have to stop thinking about her hands. Perhaps I have hand partialism? I've never had a hand fetish before, but there is something about Jane's that are my very undoing.

I can't resist any longer. I have to have her, even if it's in the only way possible. Reaching for my phone, my heart lurches at the thought of hearing her voice. My hand trembles as I tap at her name on my phone and then place it to my ear. She'll answer; she always does. It barely rings before I'm rewarded with her voice.

"Maur," her low timbre sends a tremor down my back. "Whassa matter?"

"I can't sleep," I answer honestly. It shouldn't be a surprise; I've called her like this every night this week. She sighs gently; the soft exhale of her breath makes my throat suddenly go dry. What it must feel like to have her hot breath on my neck as she works her long fingers inside of me.

"Oh God," I bite back a sob as the visual will not leave my mind.

"God is sleeping. Just Jane," she mutters and yawns softly. From the groan that follows, I know she is stretching. We went for a jog after work and then grabbed a quick bite for dinner. She looked exhausted when we parted; she said she was going to go to my guest house to visit Angela quickly and then head home to bed. Once home she probably opened a beer, drank half of it while in the shower, and threw on the first pair of clean boxers and white t-shirt she could find. She probably dozed off on the couch; beer never finished, and only a short time ago woke and groggily made her way into the bedroom. Right now, if I was kissing her, she would taste like Spring Rolls and Sam Adams; her hair still damp from the shower.

Would she like it if I ran my tongue down her elegant neck? Is she as dramatic in the bedroom as she is in her daily life; flailing hands and exasperated sighs? Or does she possess the cool, calm, and deadly serious persona she takes on when standing down against a suspect? My entire body shudders as I picture her eyes fixated; hard and dilated on her prey as her intelligent mind figures out the best way to get what she wants and the quickest way to do so.

I have never needed anyone like I have needed her right now. My hand drifts down to the apex of my thighs, past the part in the soft silk of my dressing gown, to tease my naked skin underneath.

"Maur?"

My eyes snap open and my hand freezes just before I touch myself where I am aching for her to be touching me so desperately. I clench my thighs together in agony.

"I'm here, Jane."

"Do you want me to come over?"

She's asked the same thing during each midnight phone call and I've always declined.

_No. I can't possibly be held accountable for my actions if I see you right now. _

_No. If you come over, there is an extremely good chance I will throw myself at you and make a complete fool of myself. _

_No. If you come over, I will answer the door in nothing more than my sheer dressing gown and beg for you to put your mouth on me. _

_No. If you come over, I will have brought myself to the brink of orgasm and it will only take one glance from your brilliant eyes to push me over the edge. _

_No. If you come over, I will push my obnoxiously large strap-on into your hands and get on all fours in front of you before you even have time to take your shoes off. _

My voice betrays me. "Yes, Jane. If you wouldn't mind, I think having you here would be good for me."

I hear her nod her head as if she were in agreement. "No problem. Be there in a minute."

As she ends the call, I groan into the darkness at my own stupidity. She will drive fast and there will be little traffic. My pounding heart beats faster with the anticipation of seeing her again so soon. Right now she's rubbing her eyes with the backs of her palms, her long lanky form rising from her bed and shuffling into the bathroom. She will wince at the brightness of the vanity light and hiss in displeasure as she splashes water on her face in the attempt to wake herself up quicker.

The very thought of her, even in such a rudimentary setting, sets my core aflame. Desperate for some release, my fingers work their way through my drenched center and I allow the low and ragged moan to echo off the otherwise quiet walls of my bedroom. Would she leave her pajamas on and just throw a pair of Boston PD sweatpants over her boxers? A faded and worn hoodie hastily pulled over her thin t-shirt? As she approached her front door, I can picture her sliding her bare feet into the first pair of shoes she shuffled into; sighing dramatically at the thought of going out in the cold. Still, she would, her muscles contracting and her nipples formed into twin, tight peaks once the frigid wind made its way through her cheap cotton clothes. Does she know how incredibly desirable I find her to be in her 'scuzzy' clothes, as she likes to call them?

Once here, she would lay sprawled against the plush cushions of my couch; one hand in the waistband of her sweatpants and the other flopped over her forehead. Her long and lanky form would take up the entire length of the sofa. She would look so supine; so comfortable, and irresistible. I craved her like no other.

Comfortable Jane equals confident Jane. And confident Jane is oh, so fucking sexy. Dozens of images of confident Jane surge through my head; each bringing another rush of wetness as I can't help but flick my fingers over my clit mercilessly. I imagine Jane finding me like this; on the edge of orgasm. Would she push my hand away and bury hers inside me instead? I moan; long and low and ragged and push a finger inside of myself, my walls clenching. It would feel so much better if it were Jane's fingers; a good inch longer than my own and twice as resilient. Her weight would anchor me to the mattress as the curtain of her curls tickled my face and shoulders. She would whisper lovely things, nasty things, sweet things, and disgustingly filthy things into my ear as she fucked me slowly and deliberately; words that would make me flush. I imagine telling me things that I would soon beg for her to do, as she moved me into positions that I had only imagined to be possible, telling me how much she loved me.

Thinking of her declaration of love causes my orgasm to arrive with a shuddering surprise of emotion. So caught up in my imagination, I am unable to resist crying out her name loudly and repeatedly until I've finished. My voice hoarse, I whisper her name raggedly one last time as tears well in my eyes; imagining just how unrealistic my fantasy really is.

I'm so angry at myself for allowing my imagination and emotions to take control. Sitting upright, I wipe my hand off on the bedclothes and slide my dressing gown off as I get up and turn on the light. She will be here soon, and I need to get dressed in something more appropriate; not to mention needing a few minutes to compose myself.

I let out a small gasp as my vision adjusts to the light. My eyes widen in surprise as I see her standing in my doorway, now clearly lit by my bedside lamp.

"How did you," my voice falters. How long has she been standing here?

"I, uh, I was at Ma's still," her voice is low, even for her. Her eyes dart back and forth from my naked form to the floor in front of me. "I must've fallen asleep on the couch. I woke up when you called with a blanket over me. That's why I said I'd only be a minute."

I can tell she's unsettled; and rightly so. It's not like her to offer a lengthy explanation for anything, and her downtrodden expression and uncomfortable posture is something I've never seen from her.

"I thought it was merely a figure of speech," I respond, uncertain of what she saw and how to proceed. She was still in her workout clothes, the tight pants leaving nothing to the imagination and her sweatshirt skewed. Her hair had obviously started out as pulled back into her trademark ponytail, but most of the curls had attempted an escape. Her running shoes were shoved on, left untied.

"Um, I'll let you get dressed," her face manages to appear both ghastly white and flushed red with embarrassment.

Before I can say another word, she is gone.

Standing frozen next to my bed, I have no idea what to do. She clearly knew what I was doing, and it is highly unlikely she avoided hearing her name called out. I close my eyes in despair, knowing I have quite possibly ruined the only friendship I have ever had.

Moments pass, maybe even minutes. My normally active mind is a nearly-empty void, the shocked expression on Jane's face and her downturned eyes as she moved away replaying over and over through my head like a scene from a terrible movie. I have never felt more powerless or vulnerable; literally and figuratively stripped naked in front of the person who means more to me than anyone else ever has or ever will. I would never claim to have the powers of psychic premonition (not that I would ever admit such a thing to exist), but I am assured that Jane is 'the one'. It's just never been the right time to tell her. Truthfully, I've declined to mention my feelings to her in fear our friendship would suffer. I don't know what I would do without her in my life. My eyes well with tears; fat blobs of prolactin, adrenocorticotropic, and leucine encephalin begin rolling down my cheeks. I close my eyes and put my hands over my face; before I was old enough to understand basic physics, I believed this position made me invisible. I would give anything to believe in invisibility again.

I furrow my brow as I hear the floor creak. Jane's scent; an intoxicating mix of spiced vanilla and stale coffee infiltrates my senses as if she's standing directly in front of me. I'm almost afraid to open my eyes in case I am wrong.

Then I feel a touch; tentative at first as it barely graces my hip and fidgets upward to my waist before trailing away. Her hand; I would recognize her touch anywhere. I hear a sigh; or was it a bitten back moan? I feel gentle pressure on both of my wrists; and when I fail to uncover my face, the pressure is more demanding and my hands are forced to my sides, encircled firmly in Jane's grasp.

My eyes snap open to meet the gentle chocolate depths of Jane's. They glitter like the finest cut gemstone, heavy and laden with emotion. She glances down guiltily at my trapped hands and releases them quickly, a faint blush coloring her neck. Jane reaches a tentative hand toward my face and her touch is so soft; almost awed, that it's almost imperceptible.

"Hi." It's a stupid thing to say, foolish even, but it is the only sentence I am able to muster at the moment.

She smiles; that sly half-smile usually reserved for only me. Combined with a gentle downward jut of her chin and bashful eyes, she is completely alluring. My breath hitches in my throat as I notice that her eyes have traveled downward to fixate on my breasts. The tip of a fleeting tongue appears as she licks her lips. Her chest is flushed and her breathing erratic. Her eyes meet mine briefly again and I notice her pupils are dilated, before they return to stare at my exposed body.

Clear physiological signs of arousal.

Before I can process what any of this means, I feel her lips on mine. What begins as a timid, almost chaste, kiss quickly turns into one that leaves my legs quivering as she becomes more bold. Her hands spread as wide as possible at the palm to cover the majority of my naked skin; roam over my back before quickly moving to the front to tease the undersides of my breasts shyly.

My fingers deftly move between the layers of her clothes, desperate to feel the taught and toned skin of her abdomen and I can't help the moan that escapes once I am rewarded with her muscled flesh.

She jumps back away from me as I trace her musculature; a nervous smile on her face as she self-consciously runs her hands through her mussed curls in a thinly-veiled attempt to return them to her ponytail. My fingers twitch; already missing the feel of her skin. My body deflates as I assume her movement away from me is a rejection.

"Jane," my voice is dry; hoarse. "I know we need to talk. I'm so sorry, I should have told you sooner; should have been honest with you, I should have…"

She interrupts me with a sharp shake of her head. "Why haven't I ever told you how incredibly beautiful you are?" Her voice is hushed, reverent. A tone I've only heard from her before when she's spoken about happy childhood memories or the Red Sox winning something important.

I shrug silently, lifting one shoulder. Our eyes meet and I gasp at the intensity I see in her dark depths. As I reach for her, she shakes her head again, more of her wild hair escaping from the thin band.

"I want this Maur, more than you'll ever know," her voice is haggard, hungry. "I just need some time." She takes another step back from me and my shoulders sag. My eyes refuse to leave hers and I try to implore her with all that I am feeling. My words are failing me, and for the first time in my life I feel as if I open my mouth to speak I will begin to cry.

"Okay," I tell her in a soft voice as I nod in agreement.

We stand there, staring at each other. I'm completely fascinated at the range of emotions flickering over her face; regret, disbelief, adoration, nervousness, a slight flash of anger even. Yet in the end, the only expression left is of pure unadulterated desire. I know her so well, I know that most of the others were reserved for her, but the desire is solely for me and me alone.

"Fuck it," she mutters and crashes against me in a crushing kiss before I can begin to lecture her on her language. Her hands, those glorious hands that I have been fantasizing about for what seems like forever, boldly claim my entire body. Her kiss consumes me and I claw at her back; wanting to feel her skin against mine. Pushing my hands under her clothes I am once again rewarded with her muscled flesh and I smile against her mouth.

"I need more of you," I tell her and she nips at my bottom lip before her tongue meets mine again. Without preamble she enters me with two long digits, her prominent knuckles scraping my rigid walls as she slowly moves in and out. Unintelligible sounds leave my mouth as I gasp and throw my head back and I'm vaguely aware of her hot and wet mouth moving down to do purely obscene things to one nipple as her free hand works the other.

Somehow we move together back toward my bed and I am rewarded with the welcome weight of her, just as I've imagined. I bite back a smile as she carefully tucks herself around me as to not hurt me. Satisfied that I'm comfortable, she starts her ministrations again as her mouth finds mine once more.

She is an amazing kisser; both gentle and aggressive. I can't help but pull her closer as my hands entwine around her mussed curls.

Her pace is languid and deliberate as she fucks me, using her strength to push one of my thighs further apart so she can reach inside deeper. I groan and shriek as she rubs inside me where no one else has ever been able to reach and she lets out an evil sounding chuckle. She continues her slow pace until my toes curl and I feel as if I don't come soon I will die from the intoxicating pleasure.

"Jane," I claw and nip at her as I shamelessly grind myself down further onto her hand. "You feel amazing, please don't stop,"

"Nuh huh" she says, a mouthful of my nipple. She releases it with an audible 'pop'. "Never going to stop, Maur. This is heaven." She gives me an-almost feral grin before taking my nipple in her mouth once more; biting down just enough to send a sliver of pain up my back.

In engulfs me with a passion I never knew I had. "Jane, please. Harder."

"Don't want to hurt you," she murmurs around my voluptuous breast.

"You won't. Jane, I won't break. Please."

Perhaps it's the desperation in my voice that finally allows her to let loose, or it's the sensation of having a completely open and dripping wet woman at her mercy, just begging to be fucked. Regardless, she begins to piston her hand in and out of me, somehow managing to hit that unreachable spot inside of me on the upstroke and my clit on the down stroke, perfectly, every time. She growls as she feels me come undone underneath her and clamps down on my nipple, holding it roughly in her teeth as she flicks the tip with her tongue.

It's all too much and not enough and as I scream and moan and pull her hair, she somehow does everything even harder.

I have felt pleasure from my own hands as well as others; men and women alike. However, nothing could have ever prepared me for the feeling of being completely consumed and loved by Jane. The reality of her makes all of my fantasy scenes seem generic and idiotic now that she is everywhere; on top of me, around me, and so deep inside me I can't even remember what it was like to be without her. Before I know it my orgasm arrives and it is so strong that my entire body shakes and convulses and yet she still doesn't stop fucking me as she urges me on to an even greater high. Once I become limp and boneless, she uses her superior strength to flip me over and smoothly reenter me from behind, going in even deeper than before. She savagely bites my back and shoulders as she coaxes me into yet another orgasm; pushing and prodding and pulling at me until I collapse onto the mattress a sobbing and shuddering mess, screaming her name like I have never screamed before.

It is only then that she is soft; engulfing me with her long form, peppering kisses to my damp skin and whispering unintelligible words. The ringing in my ears prevents me from hearing all that she's saying, and when I order her to remember everything in order to repeat it back to me once I'm able to listen, she chuckles. She presses her still-clothed body against mine until I stop trembling, her hands caressing every part of my body. Fiddling with my hair, tracing the curve of my waist to hip, tickling the back of my thighs, and returning back to my hair before repeating the pattern again; her hands are relentless. Just as I imagined they would be.

Once I'm completely relaxed, she gently encourages me to turn over in order to place an indolent kiss to my mouth. I return the kiss freely; enjoying the gentle and leisurely pace she's offering now.

"Sooooooooo," she drawls softly once she breaks the kiss, "um, that was fun." Playfully waggling her eyebrows at me, I can't help but giggle.

"Fun? That's the best you can come up with? I could think of several more suitable words to describe what just happened if you hadn't given me several amazing orgasms." I smile to let her know that I am only teasing.

"Three," She responds smugly, "I'm pretty sure it was three orgasms."

"I'm very sure it was," I agree as I tuck my head into her well-defined shoulder and allow my own hands to wander. "Jane, I know there's a lot to talk about but all I can focus on at the moment is getting you out of these clothes."

She smiles and I feel my heart lurch; overwhelmed at the emotion I'm feeling. We continue to grin at each other for several seconds until hers slowly fades. I look at her quizzically, my hands stalled.

"Jack?" Her face is pained; concerned.

"He has been very kind and sweet to me, and I do care for him." Her face falls and I hurry my next sentence. "Jane, he's been a distraction; something to keep me preoccupied while I gathered the courage to tell you how I really felt." I place my hand over her heart. "There's never been anyone like you for me. You must know that."

The relief on her face is evident and she gives me an easy grin. When her eyes flash, I know I'm in for some much-deserved teasing. "I, uh, think you made that pretty clear tonight when I walked in on you screaming my name." She puts the back of her hand to her forehead, fluttering her eyes dramatically as she continues, "Oh Jane, Jaaaaannnneeeeeeeeeee, Jaaaaaaaannnnnnnnnnnnnnnneeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!"

I laugh with her, content in the security of her embrace and the realization that nothing has to be different between us. As her ever-fidgeting hands somehow find the way back to my breasts to tease once-again erect nipples, my eyes flash with rekindled desire. Well, one thing will be very different for us. Growling, I push myself on top of her prone form, taking in the delicious sight of her lying languid beneath me. She quirks one eyebrow at me; and the simplicity of the gesture sets me aflame.

"It's time to hear what it sounds like when you scream my name."


	2. Chapter 2

I hadn't intended this story to be anything other but a smutty one shot, but I'm happy with the feedback I've received so I decided to write the first chapter from Jane's perspective. Would any of you be interested if I decided to continue this fic? Let me know your thoughts.

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><p>I traced my middle finger over the delicate filigree of the blanket repeatedly, following the same pattern each time. I count ten times, then twelve, and am halfway through thirteen before being interrupted by an unusually-gentle voice.<p>

"What are you doing?"

I glance up at the hovering face of my mother; concern evident in her narrowed eyes.

I clench the blanket nervously before releasing it, smoothing out the heavy embroidery until it lies flat once again across my lap.

Sighing, I avert my eyes; annoyed.

"What's upsetting you?"

My jaw clenched, the image of Jack splayed comfortably against Maura's couch as I arrived unannounced for breakfast this morning torments me. Why did he have to be so perfect? Why did she always flutter her eyelashes at him whenever he said something charming? Frowning, I push the blanket away, the smell of Maura's perfume evident. Why did the blanket have to smell like her? The sweet and spicy scent is cloying, much like my thoughts of its owner.

"Jane, you can talk to me," my mother prods and I resist the urge to snap at her. I can practically hear Maura chastising me to 'be nice' and that she's 'just trying to help' and I scowl in response to her imaginary reprimand.

"Ma, it's nothing, but thanks for asking. I'm just tired."

Her face falls. Subdued, she sits down next to me and folds the blanket into a perfect square before returning it to its spot on the arm of the couch. Maura is rubbing off on her; hell, on all of us.

I watch as my mother turns her attention to the television, watching it lifelessly. My gaze travels from her furrowed forehead, down her strong nose, to her clamped jaw. Several minutes pass as I try to figure out how to apologize for my lousy attitude.

Feeling guilty, I ask, "Do you mind if I stay on the couch here tonight? I'm sorry for being an ass; I'm just feeling sorry for myself I guess."

Her face lights up and I know I've said the right thing. She nods excitedly, springing up from the couch.

I watch her happily puttering around, now ignoring the television playing the same old recycled Christmas programming in the background. Smiling as she puts a glass of water down on the side table, I'm touched she remembers how I always got up in the middle of the night for a drink as a little girl.

The tiny little lit tree on the small side table is a far cry from the stately pine my father had insisted on putting up in the living room every Christmas. I close my eyes, embarrassed at the tears that have started to form. Everything seemed so carefree then; the delicious smells coming from the kitchen intermingled with my father's strong cologne and the woodsy scent of the tree. We'd have Christmas carols on as we decorated, tinsel wars, and arguments over how to set up the Nativity Scene while annoyed muttered Italian curses from my father filtered toward our reddened ears as he tried to untangle the lights. Once we were finished, Ma would bring hot chocolate out from the kitchen for all of us before bed; two marshmallows in everyone's cup except for Tommy, who always asked for three. After being put to bed, sometimes I'd sneak down to the top of the stairs to watch my mother and father curled up on the couch together, murmuring words only they could hear. I'd watch the snow fall, listen to the carols, and revel in the simple beauty of the season. I'd feel loved, safe, and content.

Everything is so different now. Longing for a less confusing time, I angrily wipe my tears away with the back of my hand.

This year's tiny tree is overwhelmed with our childhood ornaments, made mostly of faded construction paper and missing cotton balls. Tommy's tiny handmade star, consisting of five glitter-covered Popsicle sticks tops the tree. Painstakingly mended each year by my mother, she refused to throw any of them away. I'm surprised at the sudden flare of fiery anger that tickles my stomach. Did my father even want any of our old memories? Is he even thinking of any of us this Christmas? Who overhears his cursing now as he puts up the lights? Does she know how he takes his hot chocolate? Or is he alone this year, like I would be if I were at home?

The thought of my empty apartment, free from any holiday cheer, dissipates my anger and returns me to a melancholy state. A part of me wants to stay here tonight, not just for my mother's sake but for my own. Perhaps the two of us can avoid our loneliness together. Besides, Jo's already settled; curled up in the small dog bed Maura keeps here for her. With my long hours at work lately, she's been spending almost all of her time here with my mother. She seems to prefer Maura's sprawling back yard for her doggie duties rather than the leashed walks I have to give her when we're at home; and who can blame her? Everything seems better here. And, if I stay here tonight I can see Maura before work tomorrow and maybe even convince her to go out with me for breakfast; just the two of us this time. She's always at her most radiant first thing in the morning when the infinite possibilities of the day still await; before the realization of our depressing jobs fully sinks in. Maybe she'll wear her hair pulled to the side so her long neck is exposed; the tantalizing soft skin that begs to be nuzzled.

The beaming smile my mother rewards me with as she hands me an extra pillow and blanket causes me to give her a slight grin in reflex as I gratefully am distracted from my thoughts about nuzzling Maura from going any further.

"I'm glad you're gonna stay, Janie," she says as she bustles into the kitchenette to open the small fridge. "In fact, let's have a celebratory drink."

"What are we celebrating?"

"The end of a really shitty year," she responds as she opens two bottles of beer. Returning to the couch, I quirk an eyebrow at her.

"I call it as I see it, daughter of mine. This year has been the pits. There's been too much sadness and loss, for all of us. It can only get better from here, and I just know this year is gonna be different."

I sip my beer quietly, nodding in agreement. "I hope you're right, Ma." My voice is low, even more than usual.

"I am," she tells me confidently before taking a generous sip of her drink. I bite back a bark of laughter as she grimaces from the taste. I can count on one hand the number of times I've seen her drink anything other than wine. Suddenly appreciative of her, I reach over and clench her hand tightly. She squeezes mine back and for a brief second I'm convinced that all is right with the world.

Reality quickly returns; images of Frost with his dazzling smile that I'll never see again leaving me with a painful hollowness in my heart.

We sit in silence together, each lost in our own thoughts. How much loss and longing should any of us have to suffer? Haven't we all paid our dues to death and destruction over the past year?

I could have had it all with Casey; a perfect husband and perfect child. Why did I push away from him so strongly? Why did I refuse to quit my job in order to protect my child? And Frost, why was he taken from us so suddenly? How is any of this fair?

"Hey," she releases my hand and pats my leg, "stop being so down in the dumps. We're celebrating, remember? Let's talk about what we're thankful for."

I roll my eyes as I sip my beer. "Really, Ma?"

Glaring at me, she nudges my leg again. "Yeah, really. I heard about it on Dr. Phil. He says that for every sixty seconds you spend unhappy, you lose a minute of happiness. You've been moping now for the entire time you've been here. That's been almost 45 minutes of happiness you've denied yourself!"

"Now you're taking life advice from Dr. Phil?"

"Well, I don't see you trying to figure out how to make yourself happy, do I? Jane, life is too short to be miserable all the time. Take it from me, I spent a long time trying to fix something that was broken beyond repair and I was too blind and too proud to admit it to myself. Don't make the same mistake I did." She takes a long and slow drink from the bottle, her expression unreadable.

I allow her words to sink in, absorbing them fully. Maybe I should have tried harder with Casey, swallowed my pride and left my job to be with him.

Shaking my head, I bite back a chuckle. It never would've worked, and I know it. Perhaps I could have had it all, relished in 'playing house' with him for a while, but in the long run I would have been miserable giving up my career.

"Ma, I don't know what you're getting at. I made the best decision for me regarding Casey. It was never going to work between us, I never would have been happy living the life he wanted me to live. Breaking it off with him was the right decision." My hands nervously fiddle with the label on my beer bottle as I continue, "But you're right about something else. I was too proud to admit that I wasn't able to do my job while pregnant. I'll live with the regret of my mistake every day for the rest of my life." As tears prickle my eyes again, I stare down at the liquid gently swishing around in the bottle; amazed at the way the amber color reminds me of the highlights in Maura's hair. "I really wanted the baby, Ma. I think I would've loved being a mother." The imaginary image of coming home to find Maura tucked in on the couch with the baby is a painful one that I've thought about one too many times.

She puts her arm around me, drawing me in close. "You both would have been amazing mothers. Maura was so excited to take the journey with you. She spent most of her evenings researching the safest cribs, highchairs, you name it."

The daydream returns, stronger this time. _I open the door, Jo's pattering little feet dancing all around as she greets me. A flash of dark blonde hair burns brightly in the dim lighting as Maura turns from her seat on the couch to smile at me before shushing the excited dog. I reach down to tangle my fingers in the terrier's perfectly groomed coat and grin as she flops over to show me her belly. Rubbing it, I'm overwhelmed by the peace and sanctity my home and those who inhabit it bring me. _

"_I just got her to sleep," Maura whispers as I creep over, shedding my jacket and shoes on the way. _

"_Hi," I whisper back as I lower myself to kiss her full mouth, my hand tangled in her flowing hair. She looks so small here; so comfortable stripped out of her fancy clothes. Dressed in a loose sweater and leggings, sans makeup, she looks younger and carefree. I regretfully release her mouth, pausing to place a kiss on the freckles that dance across her exposed shoulder. _

"_Hello yourself," she responds with a groan. She smells like peaches and cream; cinnamon and honey, baby powder and wine. She is perfect. _

_Speaking of perfection, I gently trace a finger down the face of our slumbering little girl. "Hey Angelina, how was your day? I have to tell you how jealous I am; I'd love to stay nestled against mommy's big boobies all day." I run my hands over the mentioned appendages, my fingers expertly tickling her nipples until they harden against my palms. _

"_Jane!" Maura laughs, her perfect white teeth exposed. _

"_Shh," I shush her as my heart races at the sound of her laughter. "You'll wake the baby." _

_She pulls me in for another kiss, this one deeper. She clutches to me as if I am her lifeline. "Let's put her to bed; I missed you today." _

Taking a gasp of much-needed oxygen, I return my thoughts to the present.

"Yeah, well she can go have her own baby now with Jack. I'm sure Mr. Perfect would love to knock her up," I mutter, the bitterly-spoken words escaping from my mouth before I have the chance to filter myself.

My mother's body grows stiff against mine. Slowly, she releases her hold on me, carefully sets her bottle down on the coffee table (on a coaster, of course), and turns to face me; her face stoic and unreadable.

Leaning back on the couch I square my shoulders and cross my arms, careful not to upset my beer. Preparing for a lecture of some sort, I quirk my eyebrow at my mother and wait for the yelling to start.

"Janie, I know you're hurting. We all are." Her voice is softer than I expected but I refuse to let my guard down. "I wish you could have seen how Maura reacted when you were in the hospital; how she reacted when we found out you lost the baby."

My brows furrow, remembering Maura by my bedside as I awoke, remembering asking her about Tasha, and asking her about the baby. I saw the pain in her eyes, clearly. Her hands were trembling. How could I have been so blind? So selfish? I've never even asked her how she was doing. I'm such an asshole.

"I think it's been easier for the two of you to walk a separate path side by side than a single path together," my mother continues, "but the two paths are now at an intersection. Which way do you want to go?"

"Wait, what?"

"You heard me, Janie." I meet my mother's gaze; her eyes fixed on mine, her expression resolute. "Think about it, would ya? You're a detective; it's your job to figure things like this out, not Maura's. That woman needs something printed up in three different peer-reviewed journals before she would even start to consider it a fact."

Seeing that I'm completely confused, my mother decides to make an exit. "Do some thinking and find some happiness. It's all within your grasp. You know, I've never seen you be afraid of going after something you wanted until now." Standing up, she leans down to kiss my forehead. "Get some rest."

I sigh at her retreating form. "Really? If this is how you get when you drink beer, please don't. And stop watching Dr. Phil."

She flutters a hand over her shoulder as she tidies up a bit. "Good night. I hope you figure it out and get over whatever is holding you back from telling Maura how you feel. You're bold by nature, and as much as it's always driven me crazy, it's one of the things I admire most about you. This lollygagging you've been doing for years doesn't flatter you. Make a decision already¸ would ya?" She turns around to face me once more. "You know why I always get up extra early on Black Friday, right?"

I'm so taken aback by her sudden subject matter change I can't think fast enough to answer. She rolls her eyes at me and I suddenly realize how similar we really are. It's terrifying.

"I go shopping early because that's when the best deals are. Every time I've waited, there's been too much competition for the one thing that I really want. Maura's in a league all of her own, and competition is fierce. Anyway, you know me, I hate to intrude. I won't worry if you're not here in the morning." She shoots me a sly smile before heading off to her bedroom.

Sighing, I flop dramatically back onto Maura's couch and pull the bedding over me. Jo regards me warily from her bed, a stern look on her face.

"What, do you have some insight on my personal life as well?"

Understandably, the terrier doesn't answer. Instead, she stands up, turns around three times, and lies back down in the bed, now with her back facing me.

I snort, "Figures. You're no help either."

Switching off the table lamp, I check my phone to make sure I have my sounds on in case Maura calls. She's called me every night this week, usually in the middle of the night. I don't know if I should be thrilled that she's calling me instead of Jack, or concerned she's not sleeping well.

I close my eyes, determined to get some sleep. Truthfully, I don't want to think about any of the things my mother just brought up. I know what I want; what I've always wanted. I've loved Maura as long as I've known her, as stupid as it sounds. I've just never been able to tell her.

My eyes snapping open, I roll them at myself. I'll risk my life countless times, go toe to toe with known criminals, but am too much of a chicken to share my true feelings with anyone? Pathetic. I close my eyes just for a second, determined to figure this out tonight. As much as I hate to admit it, my mother is right. There's no more time left for me to be miserable.

The next sound I hear is my phone ringing. My hand grasping out, I answer it without checking to see who it is. I know it's her.

"Maur, whassa matter?"

"I can't sleep," she responds. She sounds drawn tight and exhausted. I won't lie, part of me is overjoyed that she's not in Jack's arms, snoring peacefully after being fucked senseless by his perfect self. I shudder in disgust, sighing in despair at the thought of her with anyone other than me.

"Oh God," she chokes back a cry and I immediately feel guilty for wishing her unhappiness with Jack. She deserves so much better.

"God is sleeping. Just Jane," my attempt at humor is lost on both of us as I stretch out on her long couch. She doesn't respond and after a few seconds of silence, I notice her breathing change to a heavier, shorter pant.

I scrunch my face in confusion. "Maur?"

"I'm here, Jane," she answers quickly, almost frantically. Something is wrong, I know it.

"Do you want me to come over?" My question is purely rhetorical; I'm going over there regardless of her answer. Getting up from the couch I straighten my clothes and pull my hair back quickly. Shoving my feet into my running shoes, I don't even bother with the laces, determined to get there right away.

She finally responds. "Yes, Jane. If you wouldn't mind, I think having you here would be good for me."

I grab my small leather bag with my wallet and firearm off of the floor and sling it over my shoulder, "No problem. Be there in a minute."

My keys in hand, I lock the door to the guest house behind me; gasping as the cold almost takes my breath away. Quickly, I unlock the door to Maura's darkened house and disarm the alarm before it even has a chance to chime. I hurriedly make my way to her bedroom, determined to make sure she's okay.

A moan stops me in my tracks. Reaching for my firearm in my bag, my hand clenches around the handle and I'm about to draw it when I hear the moan again; more ragged this time. It sounds like sex; pure unadulterated sex and my stomach clenches in response. Is she having sex right now? The sound of her has an immediate effect on me and suddenly I feel dizzy, nauseous at the thought of finding her with someone else, and completely aroused by the noises she's making.

My eyes practically bug out of my head as I realize what else could be causing that sound. Is Maura really doing that? To herself? Just after getting off the phone with me? My cheeks flush and I struggle to control my breathing.

"Jane," I've never heard my name said like this; part gasp, part cry, and clearly laden with desire. I take the final ten feet to her bedroom practically in a single leap; landing in the center of her doorway. I close my eyes briefly, hoping I'm not going to see something upsetting. Instead, I'm rewarded with an image that will forever remain seared in my memory. Maura, in bed with her head thrown back and eyes closed, one hand moving steadily between her legs.

My mouth feels like I've swallowed cotton and I'm fully aware of my jaw hanging open. Catching flies, as my mother would say. I shake my head slightly and rub my eyes to ascertain I'm actually witnessing this. My hands twitch with envy as I imagine how silky she must feel; how wet. I can imagine how she would feel clenching around me and the thought of sliding my fingers inside of her makes my breathing becomes erratic. Maura's pale skin is visible in the darkened room thanks to the bright moonlight streaming in through the windows, and I've never loved the moon more. Her nightgown is pushed up around her muscular thighs and delicate toes clench the sheets. With her back arched, her breasts strain against the flimsy lace of the silver silk and I lick my lips in response. Seeing the tight tips of her nipples anxious to escape their confines sends a jolt down my stomach and I clench my thighs in response.

I have to have her; and as I take a step forward I fully intend on show her just how much I am consumed by her, how much I love her, and how much she means to me; but I stop myself. My hands trembling, I remain immobile and completely aware of what an utter fool I am. As she screams my name over and over I am overcome with arousal, guilt, and self-loathing. I can't tear my eyes away from her; I know I should leave before she sees me. It would be so easy to retreat unseen and re-arrive in a few minutes until the guise of not have witnessing a thing, but I can't. I'm powerless to do anything but watch the woman I'm in love with climax in front of me while screaming my name.

The voyeur in me cannot look away as she stands up, her gossamer nightgown sliding off to reveal all of her glorious skin underneath. Turning on the bedside lamp, she is bathed in golden light. Unable to stop myself, I let out a gasp. I've never seen anything like her; no one could be as perfect.

The beauty of her is insurmountable; silver and gold in the mixture of moonlight and lamplight, she appears as if the moon herself has taken a human form. The long strands of her hair are comets that shriek out in every direction, her glittering eyes are every star in every galaxy. My eyes trace every part of her over and over, willing myself to memorize each glorious inch of her perfection.

"How did you," her voice weakens.

"I, uh, I was at Ma's still," I respond quickly, my throat dry. I force myself to look away from her; she must already think I'm a pervert for standing here staring at her. I nervously continue talking, even though I know my next words are not completely truthful. "I must've fallen asleep on the couch. I woke up when you called with a blanket over me. That's why I said I'd only be a minute."

I hate lying to her. Why can't I just admit that I stayed over because I was so lonely? Tell her how I was hopeful to spend extra time with her in the morning? Confess to her that I couldn't walk away just now because I'm completely in love with her and have fantasized about seeing her like this countless times? My hands clench angrily at my sides and I open and close my mouth over and over, but the words won't come out.

"I thought it was merely a figure of speech," Maura responds and I notice her shudder slightly. Her flawless skin is covered in goose pimples, and she is either nervous or cold. Or both.

"Um, I'll let you get dressed," I am finally able to retreat and I do so, taking in wide gulps of air as I walk with purpose to her front door, fully intent on leaving in order to avoid dealing with this situation.

My hand trembles as I touch the doorknob. My soul feels as if it's torn in two; I so badly want to stay but I'm so afraid. I've been down this road before; I've gotten involved with someone I work with and it's never ended well. My dating history has proven to me that I'm incapable of being in a relationship, and Maura is worth so much more than a quick fuck, regardless of how desperately I want her. My entire body feels warm and is tingling. The thought of her spread out underneath me stops me in my tracks and I realize I could never leave her like this.

Suddenly, all of my fears seem foolish. I've been such a coward, and as much as I hate to admit it, my mother is right. I've spent my entire life actively pursuing what I want, why should I stop now? I've always leapt first and looked later, and I can't think of anywhere better I'd like to leap than into Maura's arms.

I've always told myself over and over again that I'm not good enough for Maura, yet she seems to think I am. Just as I would use all the pieces to put together a case, I start to analyze all of the pieces of the relationship between Maura and myself. It's me she calls in the middle of the night when she can't sleep, me who she chooses to unwind with at the Robber after work. When she's upset, she calls me first, when she's hurt or afraid it's my arms she falls into. My shoulder she leans on to find solace, my hands she grasps when she needs to make contact with another human. Me. Maura is the smartest person I know; will ever know. If she reaches out to me and only me, who am I to argue? Perhaps the only reason she's dated others is because I've made myself unavailable to her.

But there's a but, and a big one. She told me once that I'm not her type; and it's always bothered me. Yet her type consistently lets her down; I can't even begin to wrap my head around all of the losers she's dated. And I didn't just watch her pleasure herself while thinking about any of them, right? A sly grin appears where despair once was. I may have to do some convincing to reassure her that she needs to change her type, but if the amount of desire she has for me when she's alone is at all indicative of the amount she will have when my fingers are buried inside of her, I don't think it will take much convincing.

I don't have to change myself to make her happy; I already do. She only truly smiles for me; regardless of what kind of mood she's in I can make her laugh. If I go back in that room right now, the only thing that will change is now I will make her happy both dressed and undressed. And nothing has to change at work because I'm not stupid enough to ever want to break up with her; I'd die before I would let her out of my life. There will be no awkwardness, because I won't want to hide our relationship from anyone. All I need to do is continue being myself.

Standing fully upright, I square my shoulders and smile as years of insecurities seem to dissipate. My decision made, I turn back toward her bedroom, eager to show her how I really feel.

My elation turns to despair and my heart drops when I see her, still standing in the exact same position. She's crying. My chest clenches as I step to her and lightly touch the smooth line of skin from her thigh to her hip.

She trembles under my touch as I grasp her wrists; desperate to see her face. I don't release the pressure until she finally reveals herself; her tormented eyes jaded and uncertain. Releasing her hands, I make my touch as gentle as possible as I trace the edge of her cheek.

"Hi," she says; her voice hoarse and unsure.

I smile at her, feeling like a heel as I can't help but look down at her breasts. I can't help it; they're just perfect, and they are right there practically staring at me and just daring me to cup them and test their weight. Once I meet her eyes again, I am cowed by the amount of love and acceptance I find.

Surrendering completely, I kiss her. It's everything I thought it would be and more and the love I already carried for her seems to blossom into something even stronger. I make a point to touch as much of her naked body as possible, my hands unable to get enough of her skin.

She tickles my stomach beneath my clothes and moans in approval as she traces the taut muscles of my abdomen. I jump away in reflex, not having had the chance to shower after our workout earlier. Self-conscious, I move away from her and avert my eyes.

"Jane, I know we need to talk. I'm so sorry, I should have told you sooner; should have been honest with you, I should have…"

Ashamed, I realize she interpreted me moving away from her with rejection. I never want her to feel this way.

"Why haven't I ever told you how incredibly beautiful you are?" I attempt to put as much emotion into my voice as possible, my eyes boring into hers. "I want this Maur, more than you'll ever know, I just need some time." I should have added 'long enough for me to shower' but I thought she understood what I meant.

I thought wrong. Her face falls and her voice is softer than I've ever heard it, "Okay."

What's a little dried sweat between friends, anyway? It's not like I stink or anything, and the way she's looking at me now makes all thoughts about anything other than touching her vanish from my mind, except one.

"Fuck it," I growl as I take her in my arms and kiss her, this time like I've always wanted. She grasps at my back as I stroke her all over, her hand finally resting on my muscled forearm.

"I need more of you," she cries as I nip at her full lips. Capturing me in an intense kiss she pushes my arm down toward her sex. Giving her what we both want, I enter her forcefully without preamble and my knees tremble. She's hot and wet everything I ever imagined. I can't get enough of her and it seems as if the feeling is mutual as she starts to make sounds I've not even thought possible.

When she throws her head back, it brings her magnificent breasts close enough for me to finally worship them and I do. Nuzzling, sucking, and teasing her pink nipples while working my hand in and out of her has to be the most amazing thing that's ever happened to me. Before I know it, I'm backing her up to her bed and using one of my thighs to push her legs open more. I love the little gasps she makes as I reach inside her further, starting a slow rhythm that is clearly driving her crazy. She writhes and rolls her hips down to make more contact, groaning in response.

It's as if I'm consumed by her and unable to get enough. I kiss and lick and pinch every inch of her as I thrust into her, wanting to make her feel better than she ever has before.

When she begs me to fuck her harder, a tiny sliver of fear works its way down my spine.

"Don't want to hurt you," I tell her honestly, nothing but the truth for her from now on.

"You won't. Jane, I won't break. Please."

I pause and my eyes find hers. I've never been rewarded with such an expression of trust and acceptance. My hand stilled inside of her, I take a moment to memorize the feel of her sex clenched around my fingers; her delectable wetness coating my palm. Perfection. I fuck her harder than I ever thought I could; giving her everything I have. My fingers slide easily in and out of her and I can't help but notice how she flutters beautifully every time I reach for a certain spot inside of her. Making it a point to let my fingertips caress it each time I thrust in, I add an extra grind as I thrust out and am rewarded with a guttural moan each time. She's so close, I can feel it. The thought that I'm finally going to be the once to bring her to orgasm both in body and mind is too much. Over aroused, I find her nipple again and bite it roughly, knowing she will love it. I'm not wrong and as I feel her come undone around my fingers I flick my tongue over the tip, a precursor of what I will do to her down below, soon enough.

When she pulls my hair, I growl with renewed strength as I feel her fall over the edge. She shakes and trembles against me, crying out my name. Mine. Giving her no respite, I push her on again, relentless in my pace and am rewarded by feeling her climax again; even stronger this time.

"C'mon baby, come again for me," I coax her as I add an extra wrist flick each time I thrust into her. She obeys, and I realize I'm still not done with her. Pushing her over, I claim her like I've never claimed another, thrusting back inside of her. I can't get in enough of her as I reach inside deeper, adding another two fingers inside of her. She practically collapses as she struggles to stay on her knees and I wrap my free arm around her for support. Gratefully, she leans back onto me taking my hand impossibly further inside. Mine. Wantonly, she allows me to completely consume her as I bite her all over, marking her as my own. Mine. I'm so focused on her hot wet heat that I flinch in surprise as she reaches an impossibly strong orgasm, screaming my name over and over; chanting it as if it were her mantra. Mine.

With one final lurch she collapses against me; boneless and utterly exhausted. I make no effort to hide my delighted smile as I wrap my arms around her and softly kiss her dewy neck; her pulse point rapid and strong against my lips. Tenderly, I brush her hair back and nibble her perfect earlobe, before murmuring into her ear how much I love her, how beautiful she is, how wonderful she felt, and countless other little declarations of adoration.

She murmurs a request for me to repeat everything I'm saying and I smile against her hair. I can't get enough of her; my hands relentless in the attempt to memorize every freckle and curve.

When I feel her breathing start to regulate, I help her turn over; determined to see her eyes. The expression I see there is everything I hoped for, shining with love and adoration and no signs of regret. When her gaze drops to stare at my mouth, I lean over to kiss her; gently and patient, completely different from before.

She has a mouth that begs to be worshipped, her full and soft lips part just enough for my tongue to slide through and I feel as if I could kiss her forever. It would be so easy to allow myself to become entangled in her again; enamored by the smell of her perfume and silky hair, and ignore everything else.

Still, I can't help but feel anxious about what this means and where this is going and reluctantly, I break away from her. Cursing my innate need for information even at the most inopportune time, I know I need a few answers from her.

"Sooooooooo," I start nervously, "um, that was fun." I smile to try and lessen my concerns, raising my eyebrows at her in an attempt to make us both laugh. Her answering chuckle is a delightful melody to my ears and I join in for a few seconds.

"Fun? That's the best you can come up with? I could think of several more suitable words to describe what just happened if you hadn't given me several amazing orgasms." Maura's smile grows wider and I feel a little puff of pride which causes me to feel incredibly smug.

"Three," I answer, my bravado showing through, "I'm pretty sure it was three orgasms." _Four, if you count my imaginary self, who was obviously responsible for your solo act. _The thought goes through my head quickly and I decide not to say it aloud in case it embarrasses her.

"I'm very sure it was," she agrees, nestling into my embrace. I barely manage to contain my gasp of surprise as her hand deftly works its way under my pants. So much for my self-controlled bravado. "Jane, I know there's a lot to talk about but all I can focus on at the moment is getting you out of these clothes."

I can't help myself. "Jack?"

"He has been very kind and sweet to me, and I do care for him. Jane, he's been a distraction; something to keep me preoccupied while I gathered the courage to tell you how I really felt. There's never been anyone like you for me. You must know that."

Her words come out in a rush, as if she's been practicing them and there really isn't the correct word for the relief I feel. Well, I'm sure Maura would know it if I asked her, but all I can think about is her wandering hand that is now teasing the outline of my underwear. Hiding the tremor in my voice, I struggle to maintain a little of the control I just held over her.

"I, uh, think you made that pretty clear tonight when I walked in on you screaming my name. Oh Jane, Jaaaaannnneeeeeeeeeee, Jaaaaaaaannnnnnnnnnnnnnnneeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!"

I love the sound of our combined laughs, using the opportunity to fondle her breasts again when she throws her head back. Much to my surprise, a feral growl escapes Maura's throat as she pushes me back on the bed and climbs on top of me. I forget to breathe as I take in the sight of her naked body pinning mine.

It would take less than a second for me to remove myself from her grasp and regain control, but when she opens her mouth to tell me she wants to hear me scream out her name, I gladly give myself to her.. As Maura grinds her hips into mine, her breasts bobbing delightfully in the dim lighting, I reach up to palm them and enjoy the way her eyes darken with arousal. Grinning, I lie back and enjoy the ride, there's plenty of time for me to reassert myself here in the bedroom if needed; gratefully, it seems as if we will have all the time in the world.


	3. Chapter 3

Loving the feedback I'm receiving on this – thanks everyone! Here is the final chapter – enjoy!

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><p>Biting back a smile, her gasp makes my insides flutter as I run my tongue around a dusky nipple, teasing it into a taut peak. The flutter turns into a more distinct burn as her long fingers tangle in my hair and draw my mouth even closer. Happily obliging, I continue my ministrations until she's squirming underneath me, softly moaning my name. I only stop when I feel her gently tug my hair insistently.<p>

"Yes?" My mouth now free, I gaze into her sleepy, darkened eyes.

"I love you," her smile is wide and carefree; and although I know it's just a chemical reaction brought upon by my emotional state, I actually feel as if my heart melts. I want to wake up to her smile every day for the rest of my life. "I mean, you know I love you, but I'm in love with you." Her eyebrows raised, she emphasizes the _in_.

"And I'm in love with you," I respond truthfully, finally understanding the sentiments commonly associated with the word. For several seconds we stare at each other like lovesick teenagers until the intensity of the moment causes me to feel overwhelmed. Feeling the need to retreat, just for a moment, I turn my head and lay it carefully on her chest. Her heart pounds against my ear as her hands stroke my bare back. I've never felt like this before and it's terrifying. Instead of allowing my fears to take over, I close my eyes and concentrate on the anchoring presence of my detective underneath me, clutching at me as if I'm the most prized possession in the world. I focus on the relaxing cadence of her breathing, the steady pounding of her heart. Pounding of her heart?

"Jane, are you aware that you're exhibiting signs of tachycardia?"

She snorts, her chest vibrating under my cheek. "Does that mean my heart is racing? If so, then yes, I'm aware."

I frown slightly and push myself upwards to study her expression. "Have you been having issues with your heart rate? Jane, that's something that needs to be checked right away. I'll call my friend who's a cardiologist see if he can fit you in this afternoon."

"Calm down, would ya? I don't have anything wrong with me. My heart's all worked up because I just woke up to you doing obscene things to my boob, that's all." She embraces me domineeringly and I gratefully allow myself to sink back down into her arms.

"Are you sure that's it?"

"I promise. But you're more than welcome to check my heart rate any time you'd like." I take note of the quiet gentleness of her voice and suddenly feel foolish. Of course tachycardia is a normal symptom of sexual arousal; I just have always been hyper-vigilant to Jane's well-being, even more so now.

"I'm sorry," I tell her quietly, still embarrassed.

"I'm glad you look out for me," she responds and I delight in the low sincerity of her tone. Her hands start to roam again, exploring every inch of my body as if she were trying to memorize it. I shudder when she discovers a particular sensitive area and she thrusts her hips upward in response.

"Maurrrra," she warbles as she clenches my hips, rolling me against her roughly. "How is it that I need you again already?"

Placing my hand firmly on the mattress to either side of her, I lift myself up, my hips undulating down to meet hers at an even better angle. We groan in unison, her breath hitching. Her eyes are impossibly black; her hair spread out on my pillow like a dark corona. Her pink lips are stretched into a smile that reveals dazzling white teeth; a leer that is pure seduction. She is not just beautiful; she is the epitome of feminine beauty. I cannot fathom why she would ever choose me, but I am so grateful she did.

"We're going to be late for work, aren't we?" I'm surprised I can even manage a complete sentence with the way she's moving me against her. Normally, the thought of being late would give me anxiety, but today I don't care. I am utterly enthralled with the woman currently writhing under me.

Without warning, I'm flipped onto my back with almost six feet of suddenly very-awake and very aroused detective on top of me. She flashes me a feral smile before lowering her mouth to mine.

"Oh yeah we are."

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><p>Sliding into my heels, I check the time on the kitchen clock once more. If we grab a quick breakfast on the way in, we won't be as late as I feared. Jane had the thoughtful idea to share a shower to save on time and I can't help but feel my face flush as I remember perfectly the feel of sliding my hands up her lathered thighs just before I tasted her for the first time.<p>

In the end, the shower didn't seem to save us any time at all, but it was a valid suggestion.

Buttoning my coat, I hit the remote starter on my car key and hook my clutch over my elbow.

"Jane?"

"Two minutes!"

I can't believe I'm ready before she is, I muse to myself. She always mocks me for carefully planning my outfit for each day the night before, but it certainly is a time saver.

I decide to use the time to check my emails and as I pick up my phone I see I have several missed text messages from Jack. My eyes widen in surprise as I read the most recent one just as I hear a knock on the door.

Oh no.

My shoulders sagging, I answer the door. Jack, dressed in a smart overcoat and looking exceptionally handsome, is leaning up against the door while holding two steaming cups of coffee.

"Morning, beautiful," he leans in for a kiss which I politely avoid by backing away. Confused, the questioning in his eyes causes me to flinch back even further from the door, which he takes as an invitation to enter. I've always dreaded the break-up part of all of my previous relationships; I absolutely despise being the cause of anyone's emotional torment.

"You obviously didn't get my texts, I see." There's that charismatic smile again as he motions for me to take one of the coffees, which I graciously decline. "Anyway, I just thought it would be nice to see you before work. It looks like I just caught you on the way out."

"I appreciate the sentiment, Jack. However, we do need to talk and now is neither the time nor place. I'm running late for work this morning and really need to be on my way."

"Uh oh, the dreaded talk. I'm assuming it's nothing to be worried about?" His charm, which I once found appealing, is now lost on me.

"You know what they say about the word assume, Jack." A raspy voice is easily heard from behind me and I close my eyes in response. This can't be happening. "It makes an ass outta you and me."

"Ah, Jane. Good morning." His eyes flick from her to me and I grimace in response. "And yes, I've heard that definition of the word before. It's quite popular among my students."

"Actually, Jane was referring to a common adage for the word, not the definition." Once I speak I immediately regret it. Turning to meet Jane's eyes, I beg with mine for her to behave. Message received, she gives me an apologetic smile.

"Maura, we really need to be on our way," she places a hand on the small of my back possessively before releasing me. Even through my wool coat, her touch is as strong as if I were wearing nothing. "I'll wait in the car."

Excusing herself politely, she takes one of the coffees from the tray Jack is carrying and gives him a bright smile, thanking him on the way out.

Once she closes the door, he glances at me, dumbfounded. I feel the heat rush to my face, hoping I can put an end to the situation as soon as possible without causing much discomfort.

"Maura, what's wrong?" His voice low, he sets the remaining coffee down on my counter. Placing his hand on my arm, his eyes are clearly concerned. "Why do I feel as if I'm missing something here?"

I'm not sure how to answer him, and internally I work out several sentences to see what sounds the best. They all sound terrible, and in the end I opt for the simplest explanation.

"What happened?" He asks again, his other hand reaching for me. Ducking my head, I back out of his grasp.

"Jane happened," I state plainly, apologetically.

As I watch him absorb the situation, I reflect on those two words. Jane happened. Never did I think it would be possible for another person to change my life in so many ways. Jane was my first real friend, the person that taught me how to confide in another; how to trust someone. Without her influence, I would have never have learned the beauty of just 'hanging out' and the importance of being able to be completely relaxed in the presence of another human being. Jane taught me how to be comfortable in my own skin by show me how comfortable she is in hers. She is the first person to like me for myself; and seeing myself through her eyes I don't feel so much like Maura the bore-a anymore. When I am with her I feel everything; absolutely overwhelming, but addictive. Jane has taught me how to live. I'm not sure when my feelings of friendship turned into something more; although I do know that it wasn't a sudden revelation. It could be best defined as a slow evolution of sentiments, an emotional journey through life's complexities and simplicities; perhaps even an inevitable joined ending for two very different individuals. Regardless of how I could ever manage to eloquently describe how Jane and I went from friendship to a more serious relationship, the phrase 'Jane happened' seems to just sum it up better than any other long-winded string of words.

Staring at me, I'm able to easily decipher his reaction. His expression hasn't changed, and I realize from the resigned sadness that has graced his face since Jane spoke that he's known all along what the actual issue with our relationship is. Where I expect anger, I find none; only quiet acceptance. Sadly, he gives me a small smile.

"Ah, I'm not sure what to say." He runs his hand through his hair sheepishly. "Other than I had a feeling this was going to happen. I mean, I know the two of you have been friends for a long time, but I could see something else there." He grimaces before continuing, "I certainly understand. You're very easy to fall for, Maura."

"I'm sorry, Jack." I couldn't be more truthful. "You're a wonderful man, you really are. If my situation was different, I know I could have reciprocated your feelings. I never intended for you to get hurt, and certainly did not mean to lead you on. I honestly did not see my relationship with Jane ever progressing to this level; I was not aware of the feelings she had for me."

He chuckles, not unkindly. "Maura, you'd have to be blind to not see it." Clearing his throat he glances at his watch. "Well, the morning is getting away from us. I should let you get to work, and, uh, well, I guess this is goodbye." His eyes are sad as he leans is as if he's going to hug me before pulling himself back and giving me an awkward wave. Grabbing his coffee from the counter, he practically bolts outside.

"Goodbye, Jack." After he closes the door behind him I take a moment to settle myself. He was much more understanding and reasonable than I expected him to be. All in all, I feel as if it went as well as it could have. A small part of me absolutely feels guilty; he did seem like a good man and I do feel as if both of us assumed our relationship would progress in a traditional manner. However, Jane happened.

Jane. The thought of her erases any remaining guilt associated with Jack's unexpected visit. The need to see her is strong so I quickly place my phone in my purse, straighten my coat and lock the door behind me.

When I open my car door, the faint traces of her perfume prick my senses. She sits quietly, her eyes regarding me quizzically.

"You okay?" A raven brow is arched as she takes a slow sip of her coffee before returning the cup to her lap.

I study her elegant face; the strong jawline, pronounced cheekbones, impossibly dark eyes with well-defined delicate lashes, and sly smile. The hand that holds her cup fiddles with the cardboard edge. The other reaches for mine and grasps it tightly, squeezing until her prominent knuckles turn white; as if she's never going to let me go.

"Yes," I tell her warmly, "I'm more than okay."

"Is he pissed? What happened?" She tries to remain calm, but I sense the anxiousness in her questions.

I've never smiled wider as I respond, "Jane happened."


End file.
